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psalm_onethirtyoneSo, um, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eegatland came to see us to-day! She brought her son Mark, who is so sweet it's not even funny, and he played Maria's piano while I blathered at her a lot. He is a very good pianist. <3 And eegatland is just so nice and she signed my copy of The Empty Kingdom and put up with me being an idiot and basically eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. It was SO COOL.
And I, of course, being me, and not being the most aware person in the world, went and told her that No Human Hands to Touch made me hysterical. >_> I told this to Mama later and explained that I felt bad about saying it, because she probably did not want to know that anything she had written made people cry like crazy.
And Mama gave me a long even stare.
And I said, "Well. Not people. Me. I'm not a person."
And Mama said, "Thank you."
Then we went and picked three quarts of blackberries on the gamelands, and as we were driving home with our bounty, Mama was gleefully suggesting we could freeze some for turnovers, and I was gleefully suggesting we could have them with ice cream, and Maria said, without breaking stride for a moment,--
"Nope. We're giving them to the kids."
The kids, the kids. Mama and I looked at each other in confusion. And then we remembered that to-morrow we are going to help out with making food for inner-city kids who cannot afford it; this is a church thing we do yearly.
"Are you sure?" Mama asked, looking at our three quarts of blackberries.
"Yep," Maria said. "Just because they're poor doesn't mean they don't have tastebuds. I've tried that stuff they feed them. I'm making them all raspberry scones."
I am so proud of that girl.
(She got her SAT scores back this week, and they're okay, but they're not great. She looked at them, said "huh", and went back to looking at pictures of garlic online. Then she weeded for three hours. To-day she collared me to look at her baby tomatoes, that are right now about the size of a fingernail. Soon they will be so big they'll hardly fit in the hand. Her turkeys are big and fat and quick, and her chickens are beautiful--their feathers lie perfect on them, they look like jewels in a way, so smooth and sleek. Her peanuts are blooming, her corn is going high, her laundry blows on the line in so many bright colours. Her arms are so strong, she lifts buckets of water to take to her fruit trees with easy grace, she wrestles with her dog in the evenings. Everything she really wants she makes, or she buys for herself with decision; she does nothing uncertainly. When she gets herself something frivolous, she knows she truly wants it.
I love my sister. I love the pride of her accomplishments. I love everything she's done for herself. She is someone to respect. And I am very, very proud of her.)
Also, we had piroshki for supper. ^__________________^
also, Sagramore/Mordred/Gwenhwyfach PWP:
Beauty
"Beauty," Sagramore calls her, but in his own language, in the strange rich cadence so unlike her husband's lilting accent--he calls her szépség, greeting her in halls, smiling at her in passing, easy in his speaking.
When Mordred overhears him, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "You're as bad as Kay. Who don't you rename?"
Sagramore grins, considers. "Gareth. I have nothing for Gareth. Kiss for luck?"
He always says that. Mordred always leans over and kisses him, slipping an arm around his waist for a moment and brushing his perpetually smiling mouth with lips and breath. They do it so easily one might almost think there was nothing in it, a sort of jest between friends, but she knows better.
She certainly knows better.
Mordred gets up and stretches, putting aside his writing--writing to Gawain, who is living in Orkney with his wife, as King--and comes over to her, putting his hands on her hair, and then circling her waist from behind with his arms. "How fares my lady?"
"Well, my lord," she says. Sagramore catches her eye and grins again.
"Jesu, this weather, it's so damnably hot." He begins to unbuckle the swordbelt he always wears. "I hate the summer."
"The sun spoils your complexion, does it?" Mordred asks drily.
"It does, absolutely it does, and I'll have lost my good looks, soon, and you'll forsake me--" putting the swordbelt aside, and pulling his tunic over his head.
She feels Mordred tense a little behind her. "Quickly, too. I've got better things to do. I have a lady to be concerned with." He lifts the hair off the back of her neck and presses a kiss on her. Gwenhwyfach smiles and reaches for his hand.
"Don't let him, szépség."
"I won't," she says, and suddenly finds herself laughing, caught as she is between Mordred's slender hand on her back and Sagramore's disarming smile suddenly close enough to kiss her, and she holds her other hand to Sagramore. "He'll not dare."
"It's not fair to set two against one." Mordred kisses her neck again; she closes her eyes and turns her face up at the feel of it, and Sagramore then kisses her mouth--they do this, they always do this, but it's never any less wonderful, standing between the two of them and knowing they are both hers, her beloveds.
Her two true knights. Mordred, who can always be coaxed out of sullenness between the two of them, Mordred who married her without knowing her, because of his father, who was almost afraid to speak to her on their wedding night; and then Sagramore, laughing, smiling, always friendly, who came to them the day after and charmed Mordred calm, and Gwenhwyfach confident, and then kissed them both and drew them together and brought them into bed with him, so that the three of them became friends and lovers all at once in the midst of the uncertainty of that marriage. She and Mordred might have no need of him now, would love one another without him, but he's theirs now. Heart's-friend to them both.
Heart's friend, as he unbinds her hair from the netted scarf and says, breathless, his dark eyes bright, "It's too early in the day, isn't it?"
"What kind of thing to say is that? From you of all people," Mordred says.
"I'm trying to be considerate. I'll ask the lady."
"You always know the lady's answer," Gwenhwyfach smiles a little as she lifts the hem of Mordred's tunic to touch his skin, "Sir Sagramore le Desirous--"
He bends his head to kiss her breast. She forgets what to say.
They owe him their happiness; they do. They owe him their love, and they love him. Mordred's laughing friend with the nimble hands, who has no kin here in Britain, who would be alone (she cannot picture him alone) without family but for them, who makes light of his own sickness and kisses their fingers and tangles them in the blankets of his bed with loving abandon--
Mordred tangles his hand in the hair that's falling loose over her shoulders now, and pulls her close to kiss her mouth, and there's a beauty in it that pierces her heart, that leaves her aching with the trueness of it.
"Oh, my lord--"
"Lady," he whispers. "Lady. My friend," as Sagramore strokes his shoulder. He trembles under her hands.
"Hu barat," Sagramore says. Then he laughs, breathless again, and tells Gwenhwyfach, "Szépség."
She pulls them both to the bed.
eegatland came to see us to-day! She brought her son Mark, who is so sweet it's not even funny, and he played Maria's piano while I blathered at her a lot. He is a very good pianist. <3 And eegatland is just so nice and she signed my copy of The Empty Kingdom and put up with me being an idiot and basically eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. It was SO COOL.And I, of course, being me, and not being the most aware person in the world, went and told her that No Human Hands to Touch made me hysterical. >_> I told this to Mama later and explained that I felt bad about saying it, because she probably did not want to know that anything she had written made people cry like crazy.
And Mama gave me a long even stare.
And I said, "Well. Not people. Me. I'm not a person."
And Mama said, "Thank you."
Then we went and picked three quarts of blackberries on the gamelands, and as we were driving home with our bounty, Mama was gleefully suggesting we could freeze some for turnovers, and I was gleefully suggesting we could have them with ice cream, and Maria said, without breaking stride for a moment,--
"Nope. We're giving them to the kids."
The kids, the kids. Mama and I looked at each other in confusion. And then we remembered that to-morrow we are going to help out with making food for inner-city kids who cannot afford it; this is a church thing we do yearly.
"Are you sure?" Mama asked, looking at our three quarts of blackberries.
"Yep," Maria said. "Just because they're poor doesn't mean they don't have tastebuds. I've tried that stuff they feed them. I'm making them all raspberry scones."
I am so proud of that girl.
(She got her SAT scores back this week, and they're okay, but they're not great. She looked at them, said "huh", and went back to looking at pictures of garlic online. Then she weeded for three hours. To-day she collared me to look at her baby tomatoes, that are right now about the size of a fingernail. Soon they will be so big they'll hardly fit in the hand. Her turkeys are big and fat and quick, and her chickens are beautiful--their feathers lie perfect on them, they look like jewels in a way, so smooth and sleek. Her peanuts are blooming, her corn is going high, her laundry blows on the line in so many bright colours. Her arms are so strong, she lifts buckets of water to take to her fruit trees with easy grace, she wrestles with her dog in the evenings. Everything she really wants she makes, or she buys for herself with decision; she does nothing uncertainly. When she gets herself something frivolous, she knows she truly wants it.
I love my sister. I love the pride of her accomplishments. I love everything she's done for herself. She is someone to respect. And I am very, very proud of her.)
Also, we had piroshki for supper. ^__________________^
also, Sagramore/Mordred/Gwenhwyfach PWP:
Beauty
"Beauty," Sagramore calls her, but in his own language, in the strange rich cadence so unlike her husband's lilting accent--he calls her szépség, greeting her in halls, smiling at her in passing, easy in his speaking.
When Mordred overhears him, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "You're as bad as Kay. Who don't you rename?"
Sagramore grins, considers. "Gareth. I have nothing for Gareth. Kiss for luck?"
He always says that. Mordred always leans over and kisses him, slipping an arm around his waist for a moment and brushing his perpetually smiling mouth with lips and breath. They do it so easily one might almost think there was nothing in it, a sort of jest between friends, but she knows better.
She certainly knows better.
Mordred gets up and stretches, putting aside his writing--writing to Gawain, who is living in Orkney with his wife, as King--and comes over to her, putting his hands on her hair, and then circling her waist from behind with his arms. "How fares my lady?"
"Well, my lord," she says. Sagramore catches her eye and grins again.
"Jesu, this weather, it's so damnably hot." He begins to unbuckle the swordbelt he always wears. "I hate the summer."
"The sun spoils your complexion, does it?" Mordred asks drily.
"It does, absolutely it does, and I'll have lost my good looks, soon, and you'll forsake me--" putting the swordbelt aside, and pulling his tunic over his head.
She feels Mordred tense a little behind her. "Quickly, too. I've got better things to do. I have a lady to be concerned with." He lifts the hair off the back of her neck and presses a kiss on her. Gwenhwyfach smiles and reaches for his hand.
"Don't let him, szépség."
"I won't," she says, and suddenly finds herself laughing, caught as she is between Mordred's slender hand on her back and Sagramore's disarming smile suddenly close enough to kiss her, and she holds her other hand to Sagramore. "He'll not dare."
"It's not fair to set two against one." Mordred kisses her neck again; she closes her eyes and turns her face up at the feel of it, and Sagramore then kisses her mouth--they do this, they always do this, but it's never any less wonderful, standing between the two of them and knowing they are both hers, her beloveds.
Her two true knights. Mordred, who can always be coaxed out of sullenness between the two of them, Mordred who married her without knowing her, because of his father, who was almost afraid to speak to her on their wedding night; and then Sagramore, laughing, smiling, always friendly, who came to them the day after and charmed Mordred calm, and Gwenhwyfach confident, and then kissed them both and drew them together and brought them into bed with him, so that the three of them became friends and lovers all at once in the midst of the uncertainty of that marriage. She and Mordred might have no need of him now, would love one another without him, but he's theirs now. Heart's-friend to them both.
Heart's friend, as he unbinds her hair from the netted scarf and says, breathless, his dark eyes bright, "It's too early in the day, isn't it?"
"What kind of thing to say is that? From you of all people," Mordred says.
"I'm trying to be considerate. I'll ask the lady."
"You always know the lady's answer," Gwenhwyfach smiles a little as she lifts the hem of Mordred's tunic to touch his skin, "Sir Sagramore le Desirous--"
He bends his head to kiss her breast. She forgets what to say.
They owe him their happiness; they do. They owe him their love, and they love him. Mordred's laughing friend with the nimble hands, who has no kin here in Britain, who would be alone (she cannot picture him alone) without family but for them, who makes light of his own sickness and kisses their fingers and tangles them in the blankets of his bed with loving abandon--
Mordred tangles his hand in the hair that's falling loose over her shoulders now, and pulls her close to kiss her mouth, and there's a beauty in it that pierces her heart, that leaves her aching with the trueness of it.
"Oh, my lord--"
"Lady," he whispers. "Lady. My friend," as Sagramore strokes his shoulder. He trembles under her hands.
"Hu barat," Sagramore says. Then he laughs, breathless again, and tells Gwenhwyfach, "Szépség."
She pulls them both to the bed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 03:09 am (UTC)And also squeeeeeeee at your fic. I love happy threesomes.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 03:12 am (UTC)^____^ Thank youuuu. I do too.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 06:02 am (UTC)Hooray for earnest charity, but an addendum of a "huh" for the fact that your sister spends time looking at pictures of garlic. I mean, I love garlic, but... Your sister seems a wonder, and you describe her well. (But remember that you're a wonder too! You helped form her personality!)
I'm going to go and read all the things you've written soon, I'm sure of it. This'll be one of them. As it's something you've written, which makes it in that category. It will be read!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 04:41 pm (UTC)also, sagramore is hot.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 05:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-03 10:43 pm (UTC)Also, Sagramore's little family is wonderful. That's what they feel like, that affection and closeness and knowledge of each other; they've grown into a family.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:21 am (UTC)I wish that was how it had been, I do, sometimes. Because I know it was not nearly that happy really.
taaaaag meeeeee.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:24 am (UTC)Ach, well. That's what PWPs are for.
are you meaning the Sagramore-looking-at-dog-notice thing? I wasn't sure if that was for me or if you were wanting someone else to show up. ^_^;;
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:26 am (UTC)XD He thinks so, too.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:33 am (UTC)Maria's pinups, I am pretty sure, would be two-page spreads of harvest corn and tomatoes. She is very fond of her veggies. And she is a good girl. (I don't think anybody could have any impression at all on Maria's personality. XD)
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee. No hurry.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:35 am (UTC)XD True that.
XD No, no, that was for you.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:37 am (UTC)And Catlin?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:54 am (UTC)Well, Catlin's not mine, but I strongly suspect she wants a tag, too. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 02:55 am (UTC)I'll give her a bit. I'm honestly not sure what to do with her, and I've got such a headache tonight--I'm not really up to metre at the moment. ^_^;;
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 03:04 am (UTC)<333 Oh, gosh, then, don't worry about me either. Just get some rest.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 03:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 03:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 06:29 am (UTC)...but still a person, as worthy and valuable as any other, my dear. You must never forget that. ♥
(I have no breakfast :( I have to eat leftover cup-cakes from my Ed's birthday. Which reminds me that a wonderful thing happened yesterday and now forever-and-ever my friends' baby will be exactly thirty years younger than my Ed. Almost to the hour.)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 09:41 am (UTC)rightly so!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 09:44 pm (UTC)I don't know if that's true. XD
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-04 10:05 pm (UTC)(EAT FOODS, YOU. --oooo. That's super! Congratulations to them!)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:16 am (UTC)XD i don't think any of my characters know sagramore. and that is a dreadful shame.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 04:48 am (UTC)Who all do you even have right now? I have utterly lost track.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-05 02:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-06 02:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-06 10:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-07 01:53 am (UTC)